


Placing the Blame

by ifitwasribald



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drunkenness, Gen, really very silly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce develops a liquor strong enough to get Steve drunk.  The whole team celebrates.</p>
<p>What follows is, logically, all Bruce's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Placing the Blame

In the final analysis, the whole thing was Bruce’s fault.

Tony would have been the obvious one to blame, of course. He was the one who insisted that it was possible to create a liquor strong enough to withstand Steve’s super-soldier metabolism. And he’d been the driving force behind the research, and its publicist, too, dragging the whole crew into the lab to view the trials once they’d found a promising candidate.

Then again, it might never have occurred to Tony to investigate the issue in the first place if it weren’t for the night he was woken by crashing noises and Thor’s hearty baritone belting out a drinking song, the lyrics of which weren’t in any language Tony knew, but definitely sounded obscene. Further investigation revealed that Thor’s inebriation was the result of a drinking contest with Steve, who sat sheepishly amid empty bourbon bottles, not even buzzed. An hour later Tony and Steve managed to drag Thor to bed amid some very creative curses on the subject of Steve's capacity, which Thor variously attributed to treachery, magic, and the marital status of Steve’s parents. 

So it was at least a little bit Thor’s fault.

Bruce, though, was the one who had actually come up with the formula that worked. Not to mention that he’d taken the trouble to make the concoction palatable, and apparently reasonably similar to decent whisky--not that anyone other than Steve could safely taste the stuff.

Tony had devised a plan to lure Steve into the labs for the test, but in the end Clint just told him what Tony and Bruce were working on, and Steve shrugged and allowed that it was actually a pretty appealing idea. Thor came along, clearly looking for revenge on that lost drinking competition, and Natasha showed up too, because Clint was amused, and honestly it did sound entertaining.

Tony wanted Steve to start doing shots immediately, but Bruce insisted that he be hooked up to any number of monitors, and slowly sip his first drink over the course of an hour, to make sure that the new liquor wouldn’t be toxic--or, well, no more toxic than they intended it to be, anyway. Tony declared the process boring, and left to get refreshments for the rest of them.

By the time Tony returned, followed by Pepper and several automated carts loaded with a variety of extremely expensive booze, Steve had finished his second drink and declared himself to be buzzed. Bruce noted this, looking pleased, and muttered something about “90 proof equivalence.”

Everyone found themselves a drink to their liking, and Tony raised his glass in a toast. “To the greater good--by which I mean, getting the good Captain greatly wasted.”

They raised their glasses (or, in Thor’s case, bottle) and drank.

If that had been the end of it, it would merely have been a cheerful group bonding event, involving no particular blame to be assigned to anyone. Several drinks later, thought, it was obvious that this wasn’t going to stop at the usual drunken shenanigans.

 

For one thing, Natasha had wormed her way into the drinking contest that Thor had insisted on starting with Steve. Natasha set the pace, and Steve was at least three and a half sheets to the wind by the time he noticed that Clint was watching from atop a set of shelves and chuckling to himself.

“Barton!” Steve called cheerfully, “if you’re that amused watching, you’ll have even more fun if you join in!”

Clint shook his head. “I can’t even believe she’s fooling you,” he returned, taking a pull from his personal flask.

“What does the archer mean?” Thor’s voice rumbled dangerously, and Natasha wasn’t sure she didn’t hear an answering crack of thunder in the distance.

Steve looked at Natasha. “That’s-- that’s a good question.” And then, turning back to Thor, added “that is a really excellent question.”

They both turned back to Natasha, who shrugged and gave a sly little smile. “Always drink vodka with a mark, kid. They never know if you cut it.” She punctuated the quote with a long pull from her bottle.

“Gin!” Clint yelled from across the room. “The line is gin and you _know_ that!” He shook his head with an exasperation that suggested that this wasn’t the first time they’d had that conversation.

Steve and Thor both just looked baffled, and Natasha grinned unrepentantly. Clint swung down from his perch, sauntered over, and snatched Natasha's bottle from her hand, replacing it with a bottle of very good rum he'd snagged off one of Tony's carts.

 

Another problem, in retrospect, was that Pepper pulled Bruce aside early in the evening, and the pair spent the better part of two hours comparing notes on dating Tony, putting up with Tony, and, eventually, more intimate details of their respective relationships with the Iron Man. Pepper didn’t miss putting up with Tony, and was honestly pleased with the way everything had worked out since they’d parted ways. Bruce, for his part, was relieved to be talking this out with Pepper, and genuinely enjoying her company. The conversation wouldn’t have been a problem at all, except that, A, it look the two most responsible parties away from the group for entirely too long, and, B, Pepper brought two bottles of champagne with her.

By the time they returned to the rest of the group, still exchanging obscene and remarkably detailed stories, the lab was quite a bit worse for wear. Tony was engaged in a targeting competition with Clint, who'd had enough of Tony's really amazingly good bourbon that Tony, in his full suit, was finally decisively beating the archer. It helped, of course, that the suit was aiming almost totally autonomously, since Tony was at least as drunk as Clint.

One particularly unsuccessful shot, later no one would admit to knowing whose it had been, glanced off a tank of something volatile, causing a small explosion. By sheer dumb luck no one was hurt, but the blast must have triggered an alarm, because a claxon began blaring through the lab. Tony fiddled around for a minute, trying to remember how to turn it off, and then decided he had a better idea--a brilliant idea. “To the roof!”

It was quieter on the roof, which Steve soon remedied by launching into song at the top of his lungs. “You leave the Pennsylvania Station ‘bout a quarter to four/ Read a magazine and then you’re in Baltimore...”

“Ok, no, um, that. has. to stop,” Tony muttered. “J.A.R.V.I.S.! Music!”

The opening chords of “Shoot to Thrill” blared out of unseen speakers. Pepper rolled her eyes and gave Tony a playful shove. “Again? J.A.R.V.I.S.! Better music!”

“Shoot to Thrill” cut off abruptly and was replaced with “In the Mood.”

Tony huffed, and Pepper just smiled. “Steve! Get over here! I wanna dance!”

Steve complied, delighted. Both knew how to swing dance at least a little, but it turned out to be harder than anticipated. Neither was a bit steady on their feet, and Steve was too drunk to properly keep his strength in check. They made it through “In the Mood” without anything worse than bruised toes, but when J.A.R.V.I.S. obliged Steve by playing “Chattanooga Choo Choo” Steve’s enthusiasm got the better of him and a turn sent Pepper spinning dizzily across the roof. She collapsed, giggling, and suggested that Steve pick somebody his own size for the next dance.

“Captain!” Thor boomed, grasping Steve’s hands in imitation of his dance with Pepper. “Teach me your dance. It looks like great fun!”

Pepper continued to giggle on the floor until Natasha offered a hand and pulled her up. Natasha didn't let go when Pepper was upright, though. Instead she wrapped her other arm around Pepper's waist and led her in a few dance steps before skillfully dipping her. Pepper gave a little gasp of surprise and then she was back upright and Natasha was kissing her.

Tony watched appreciatively for a moment, and then gave an exaggerated pout. Bruce was nowhere to be seen, and Tony was suddenly very much in the mood to be making out with someone.

Clint, who Tony was startled to realize was suddenly standing next to him, grinned broadly at Natasha and Pepper. "About damn time. That..." Clint was momentarily at a loss for words. “That--” he tried again, “has needed to happen for...” he looked at Tony, “you knew, right?” Tony looked at him blankly. “Natasha’s had a thing for Pepper since that thing when Fury had her under you.” Clint paused. “Undercover,” he corrected himself. “I definitely meant 'undercover.’ With your company.’”

Tony blinked. This, he had totally missed.

“We always joked, I mean, Nat and me, we had plans-- it was pretty funny. We were gonna split you up, so--” Clint’s mind caught up with his mouth and he abruptly stopped talking.

“Designs? You had designs?” Tony demanded in a voice that managed to sound both flattered and incredulous. “On little old me, well, in that case--” Tony grabbed the front of Clint's shirt and pulled him into a kiss, which Clint discovered he didn’t mind in the slightest.

 

So Bruce was confronted with an interesting spectacle when he finally made it up to the roof, having quieted the alarm and fixed at least some of the most pressing damage to the lab (or so he hoped--it was entirely possible that he’d actually made it worse. The champagne had been good, but as it turned out Tony’s gin was even better).

Steve and Thor were doing some kind of dance which was sort of swing but involved considerably more aggressive lifts, and decidedly inexact footwork. Natasha was lying on the ground--no, on Pepper. And was kissing, or very possibly biting, the other woman, while Pepper made it very clear that she approved.

And Tony. Well, Tony’s face was entirely full of Clint’s.

And confronted with that spectacle, Bruce decided to make it worse. He pointedly cleared his throat, and the two broke apart.

Tony started to babble something about having wondered what Bruce was up to, but Clint’s reaction was way more interesting.

He’d gone very pale, and Bruce could almost see Clint’s bourbon-soaked thought process crystallize around the conclusion that screwing around with Bruce Banner’s lover behind his back was a Very Bad Idea.

Bruce continued to stare, breathing quietly. The last song had ended, and, because apparently J.A.R.V.I.S. liked drama, no new one had started. So Steve and Thor had stopped dancing and were watching Bruce now, and even Natasha and Pepper were looking up, if not actually getting up or moving away from one another.

Tony finally noticed the stand-off and started to laugh, first with a scoffing sort of a snort, and then increasingly uproariously, until he lost his balance and fell on his ass.

Bruce joined him, going from stone-faced to laughing so hard he was tearing up in a matter of seconds. He recovered himself enough to take pity on Clint. “We’re not-- we’re not exclusive,” he managed. “But you-- your face! I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t resist!” Bruce clapped Clint on the back and doubled over again with laughter.

The relief that swept over Clint and most of the rest of the team hit them like another rounds of shots. So that part was definitely Bruce’s fault, and so were the fateful words that he uttered once he’d recovered himself.

“You were right,” he told Tony, “parties can be fun. We should... we should play one of those games you’re always talking about!”

Nobody could remember exactly what happened after that, except that there had been a really byzantine drinking game, involving cards and body shots and differential equations, and that there’d been several fight over the rules, and at least one over the math. Steve was pretty sure he kissed someone, but had no idea who. Clint later remembered seeing Thor wearing only a feather boa, and holding a satellite dish and several pigeons--an image that he could neither forget nor explain.

 

The next thing any of them could clearly recall was too-bright sunlight and a discrete but insistent beeping noise from J.A.R.V.I.S. “Attention: Emergency patch-through from Director Fury.” The A.I. sounded almost apologetic. 

“Heads’ up!” Fury’s voice issued from the roof’s speakers, “S.H.I.E.L.D. picked up a hostile creating a portal into DC. No time to get you there and we don’t have enough firepower anywhere else, so we had our guys find a way to re-direct the portal to your location. Suit up everyone.”

Steve sat up with a start and bounded to his feet, only to trip and fall flat on his face. Natasha and Clint rose more deliberately and managed to keep their balance. Tony didn’t even bother to sit upright, calling his suit to him from a prone position and letting it put in the effort to get him standing.

Clint and Natasha were the first to the elevator, where JARVIS had helpfully delivered a collection of the team's weapons. Once armed, Clint jumped to the low wall lining one edge of the roof to keep lookout for the portal, but misjudged his momentum, and only Natasha's hand grabbing the back of his shirt saved him from falling more stories than he liked to think about.

Bruce managed to stand, and looked around uncertainly. Steve, having eventually gained his feet as well, caught his expression. "Sit this one out, Banner," Steve told him, his Captain-voice marred by the hiccup which immediately followed.

"Yeah, I think..." Bruce started, "I think the other guy might be drunk too. Not really sure how that works.”

They both contemplated what a drunken Hulk would do to Manhattan and shuddered.

 

Suddenly the sky opened up, and it was all very familiar--how many ways can there be to create a hole in the fabric of reality? Quite a few, apparently. A couple dozen figures emerged, and the portal closed behind them--thank goodness for small mercies, at least there wouldn’t be an endless stream of whatever-they-are-this-time.

Tony took off, but only managed to activate three of his repulsors, sending him spinning head over heels as he ascended to meet the threat. He got the fourth repulsor working in time to take a few shots, but missed more times than he hit anyway.

Tony’s nearly catastrophic offense did serve to attract attention, and soon Bruce and Pepper were hiding in the elevator monitoring the situation on Stark Tower’s security feeds while providing helpful tactical guidance like “Cap--to your left! Other left, shit, right!” and “more coming--definitely more coming!”

Natasha took out a couple of whatever-they-were, but over-extended a kick aimed at a third and ended up on her ass. Luckily, the ruckus had finally awakened Thor, who appeared behind Natasha’s assailant, completely naked but wielding Mjolnir, and bashed the thing’s head in. Unluckily, the momentum from the blow sent Thor, Mjolnir in hand, tumbling head-first off the building and down all 93 stories to end up five feet deep in the asphalt. 

Thor didn’t look like he was going to be able to get himself out any time soon, so Tony swooped down to lend a hand. Thor's arms weren’t in easy reach, though, so he simply grabbed an ankle and pulled. Ignoring Thor’s increasingly-vulgar objections, Tony ascended, pulling the thunder god behind him, still upside-down, struggling, and buck-naked.

Back up on the roof, Steve fumbled trying to throw his shield and ended up dropping it instead. The resulting shockwave was probably the better result anyway, knocking down a number of the portal-things. Admittedly it did also knock Clint off the building, but by that time he’d had the sense to secure himself, so he was able to recover and climb back up with only minimal injury.

 

Half an hour, numerous bruises, one sprained ankle, and something on the order of two billion dollars in property damage later, all of whatever-they-were were dealt with, and the Avengers regrouped.

“That... was embarrassing,” Steve noted wearily as they boarded the elevator heading back down to their quarters in Stark Tower.

“A humiliation,” Thor agreed, though he didn't seem to be referring to his state of undress, which he made no effort to obscure.

“Maybe. . . no one saw. It’s still early,” Tony noted hopefully.

“It’s really very early,” Natasha agreed, her voice hoarse with exhaustion.

“I didn’t see any photographers,” Clint offered. “But it was really fucking bright out there,” he added, rubbing his forehead gingerly with one hand.

“There’s still the building records,” Bruce pointed out.

“Piece of cake,” Tony answered, and then turned a little green, “piece of something easy that is definitely not food at all,” he corrected. “J.A.R.V.I.S., delete all records between 9 o’clock yesterday and,” Tony looked at his wrist, only to discover that his watch wasn’t there, “right now.”

“Security protocol 37552 was activated at 11:26 PM EST on June 1 2012, Sir. All subsequent internal, external, and satellite surveillance of Stark Tower has been relayed and stored in 14 geographically disparate locations under security mode delta, and cannot be deleted. Do you wish to erase records from 9:00 PM EST through 11:26 PM EST on June 1, 2012?”

Tony ignored the question. “Delta, delta...” Tony murmured, trying to remember which one that was.

Natasha was swearing in Russian. “Fury has it.”

“And we are definitely not going to be able to erase it,” Clint added.

Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. “J.A.R.V.I.S., append the following message to that excessively secure footage: For the record, this was totally Bruce’s fault.”


End file.
